His Song is Unsung
by Aisling of the Air
Summary: "November 1st is never that exciting." Nothing happened October 31st, 1981. This is what happened next. AU. Part 1 of the Break the Cauldrons, Sink the Boats series, focusing on a different timeline of the Hogwarts years. Years One and Two. Harry/Draco preslash.
1. Chapter 1

**prologue.**

There was silence in the bedroom that night, or as close to. There were James's footsteps in the hall. There was the low languid whistle of the wind. And always, the ticking clock, underscoring everything, echoing up from the foyer.

Lily had nightmares of more. Screams that stopped her heart. Crying that went hoarse as the hours ticked by dead bodies unaware of them. She didn't tell James, but he was letting her sleep later, fetching her tea at night.

_Trust him to know._

She accepted it all with a smile, but they didn't help. How could she not dream? Her son slept in this bedroom, night after night, and they chatted as the hours ticked by them, hopelessly aware of them, as a dark lord threatened to destroy them all. Even now, there he was, in his crib. She could see him clear from the doorway. Eyes shut, mouth open, helplessness clear in both.

Fear stunted her breath. _Calm down._ She could hear him breathe if she tried, if she walked closer, if she kept her own breath still.  
Eyes shut. Mouth open.

_He's this close to looking dead._

"Lily."

James' voice. She turned, and gave him the same smile she knew he probably hated by now.

_When was the last time you meant that smile?_

"Halloween," he said. He pulled a bottle out from behind his back; held it up."I got some wine."

"Maybe later."

He lowered the bottle. It smacked against his thigh. "You've been standing here for hours."

She sighed, and leaned against the doorframe. Crossed her arms across her chest, hugging herself. "I just want this to be over."

"It will be. Albus will figure it out."

"I know."

Tick. Tick. Chime, as the hour changed. It echoed through the halls, a warbling songbird neither she and James had ever been able to name. They had vowed to figure it out, when they came here. Where had that promise gone? Was it forgotten, or just meaningless now?

"Remember when Halloween used to be fun?" he asked, cocking a grin.

"You mean me carrying you to your room."

"Nothing less."

He opened up his arms, and she dove into the embrace. His scent, grass and mint, basic and clean, filled her, and for a second, she thought she could sleep peacefully tonight.

"Nothing wrong with All Hallow's Day Wine," she said, as the chime finished its 12 midnight bars.

"Just doesn't have the same ring to it," he said. "November 1st is never that exciting."

Nothing happened that night.

Nor the next.

Nor the next.

The night after that, Gilderoy Lockhart had an interesting story to tell, as he stampeded into the Ministry of Magic.

Dirt and grime clung to every free inch of his body-that which wasn't slathered in fresh blood. His eyes, frantic, jumped from wizard to witch to wizard. As if he did not know how he got there and was searching out the cause.

They focused instead on the Dark Lord's head, hanging by a long black lock from his left hand.

It wasn't an ugly face, some of them were surprised to remember. Voldemort wasn't an ugly man. His curling lip, his eyes cold as the death he brought-those were bone-chilling. The features though, relaxed in death, were delicate and aristocratic: a smoothly sloping nose, high cheekbones, long eyelashes that hung like ashes against the pale white skin.

Funny, the things you thought, when shock overcame the system.

Gilderoy seemed just as overwhelmed for he only spoke once, to say:

"Well. I did it."

Then he collapsed, head forward, onto the marble floor.

When he awoke, he was a different man. The Wizarding World had found its new hero, and as most would point out, they couldn't have been luckier. With a brilliant white smile, dazzling blue eyes, and soft blonde hair that fell in soft waves around his face, he looked the part. Not even the scar cutting down his cheek could ruin the image-rather, it hardened the boyish curves into a man's.

Albus Dumbledore watched it all with the careful restraint his life had won him, and asked his Order to carry on as normal.

Some balked; some left.

Most asked the same question he did, the question both Ministry and general public did their best to ignore.

If Voldemort could be so easily removed, that a wizard stumbling across him on a rampage through a Muggle village could duel him and win, why hadn't any among them done the deed first?

"One does one's best, when the odds are stacked against you," Gilderoy answered, in his first public address.

No one pointed out the egregious error in grammar.

_**ten years later**_

"Harry, we're leaving without you," James called up the stairs.

The answer was immediate.

"You can't leave without me if I'm the one going!"

James sighed. Shrugged at his wife, tapping her foot by the front door. "What can I say?" he said. "He really doesn't want to go."

Her eyes, green but-he swore-ever-changing with her mood, flashed neon. "He wanted to go yesterday," she said.

"I know-"

"-and the day before that-"

"-Yes."

"-and the entire summer, James, even when I didn't want him to, so what did you say to him?

"I would never say anything." But he raked a hand through his wild black hair, as if the truth would come running out of it if he didn't tackle it first. He hadn't said anything. He had joked, had suggested, that sometimes people didn't get the house they wanted, and Sirius had then some vibrant, colourful descriptions of what a stereotypical Hufflepuff looked like. It was all moot-Harry would be in Gryffindor, as was tradition for his family.

_Not that he was being a good example of one right now ..._

He tried Harry again. "You know, Dumbledore is going to be sad if he doesn't see you at the Great Hall tonight."

Quiet.

A good sign-Harry's usual instinct, contrary to his reserved nature, was to blow up, think later. James continued: "He was looking forward to seeing you and Neville every day now. But, I guess . . ."

A telltale creak broke him off. A few seconds later, Harry's eyes peered out from around the wall, looking down the stairs.

"How sad?" he asked.

"Very," Lily answered.

"Devastated," James said.

Harry inched into view at last, and James held back a laugh. It may, occasionally, concern him, but there was something delightful about his son's worrying. Lily's doing. There was no mistaking the relation, with Lily's green eyes and his ... well, everything else.

It kept things in Godric's Hollow interesting, and for his first seven years, as they tested the waters after Voldemort's end, it had been all that kept it interesting. Sirius and Remus had come in and out frequently, and Albus had his monthly visits, but they'd scarcely left the village in all their time here. The visions of play dates he'd had during Lily's pregnancy, some happy trips out on the broom and some chaotic warzones of broken toys and dirty diapers, had remained only visions. Harry saw Neville on their birthdays, and mostly, that was it.

_Unfortunately._ The seven years of solitude had taken its toll. He had spent the summer flitting between manic and rambling stories he was going tell all his new friends and whispered confessions from the dark of his comforter that he was sure no one like him. James' fist clenched just remembering it.

Voldemort may have left their son alive, but he'd laid his mark in other ways.

Harry reached the bottom of the steps and Lily held out his cloak. He looked at James though.

"If I don't ... like it," Harry said, stumbling over the words, "I can come back. Right?"

James' flicked a look at Lily; her shoulders popped up, in the slightest of shrugs. No one disliked Hogwarts. No one normal anyway. But say that and he's going to run right up to his room in a fit about how he's not normal.

"There are always muggle schools, right, Lil?" James said with a grin. Lily's eyes narrowed, as if to say, "Thanks for passing it on to me." She put on a smile though, and kneeled down a little, to drape the cloak around her son.

"I was down to go to a muggle school," she said, "and you know everything you're supposed to."

Harry's eyes skidded away from hers and James stifled a snicker. _Well, more or less._ Ravenclaw, at least, was not in Harry's potential future.

"So, there it is, then," James said, clapping his hands. "Hogwarts or a life doing arithmetic. Both very solid options."

"James," Lily warned, drawing out the name, and he grinned.

"Kidding! But, how's that sound, Harry?"

His son looked at Lily. Looked at him. Then looked down at the floor.

Then, looked up again, green eyes almost glowing. As if he'd shouted Lumos at some deep part of his brain.

"Okay," he said, as Lily hugged him. James sighed in relief, but couldn't look away. _Always worrying,_ he thought-_so where does that come from?_ That fire, that burst of Gryffindor that pushed Harry on to a Nimbus 95 at the age of four and past boggarts in the attic?

_Take the charm and don't ask whose wand it came from,_ his mother's voice said, dancing through his head. He'd never been very good at it, but he'd accept it now. Harry was going to be fine.

He was his son, after all.

_I'm very small,_ Harry thought, as he hung between his parent's vice like hands.

He wasn't. He had a thin, bony frame that he used to get into small cracks in the Hollow, but he was of average height, according to the healer that visited every year around his birthday. As children whizzed around him though, on the crowded platform of King's Crossing, he was unsure. There were children not his own age, but of the ones who looked like they were, most were bigger than him, and only a few smaller. Even those seemed longer, thicker, meaner and laughing to each other-

"Maybe we should have Floo'd".

-and then, there were his parents.

They meant nothing by it, this talking over his head. They were used to it, he supposed. When he was a kid, five or a little older, he was sincere in not caring what they were saying. He had his toy wand or toy broom or the Ghost Under His Bed to occupy his time; they could talk all they wanted.

"Lily, the train is important."

"But look at this place."

He never told them that had changed. That he realized that something they said might have something to do with why he wasn't allowed to leave the Hollow.

He had been nine. Neville'd been over, for their birthday. They weren't on the same day, Neville was on the 3oth, but when Harry was seven, they'd started to celebrate them together. He liked Neville, though the first time he'd seen him, he didn't think he had said a word. Neville hadn't made fun though. He liked plants and, silent as he was, Harry was the perfect audience. So Harry had nodded, and Neville had lectured, and that had been that, until that ninth birthday. They were talking about Quidditch, and the Chudley Cannons game Harry and his dad had listened to on the radio, and Neville had pouted:

_**"I don't like the Cannons on account of Ron does."**_

_**"Ron who?"**_

_**"Ron Weasley. He and his brothers almost stepped on my garden and then Mum told them they had to apologize only he didn't."**_

Harry had shrugged and agreed it was a rotten thing to do, but inside his head, a safe of questions he hadn't known existed blew open. Neville got to see other children? Neville had other friends? Harry knew they existed, and he'd read his mother's Muggle books. Muggles were always making friends with each other and running round without their parents and saving the day, but they also went to schools, which is how he supposed they met each other. Wizards didn't do that, he thought-at least, he never had.

So why did he only get Neville?

Again, it wasn't that he didn't like Neville, but Neville wasn't a very interesting friend. He was nice and didn't mind if Harry didn't know what to say, but didn't like sneaking into the crawlspace under the foyer floor and sneaking up into the attic like they were Indiana Jones ("I don't even know who that is!" he complained).

Harry had asked about it that night, but his mom had only looked at him funny, the way she did when she was sad and didn't like anyone to know it.

"You're a very special boy," she'd said, and she'd kissed him once on the forehead and that was that.

It was only by being small and listening that he'd ever figured it out. He'd been playing, out in the foyer, when he'd heard voices slipping out of the den. He'd stood and carefully tiptoed, down the hall, until he could hear clearly:

**_"... their business, Lily."_**

**_"It's irresponsible, is what it is."_**

_**"Or smart."**_ Silence. Probably a glare from his mother. _**"Kidding."**_

**_"No, you're not."_**

**_"Well, why are we still being so careful? It's been 8 years."_**

**_"Albus said-"_**

**_"Albus said that the Dark Lord is biding his time. I'm not disagreeing with him, I'm not throwing Lockhart any parades."_**

His mother had scoffed, but Harry's ears had perked. Hr knew Lockhart-everyone did. Though his mum said that he'd killed the Dark Lord, whoever he was "by a silver tongue" whenever Harry asked.

_**"So what are you saying?"**_

She'd said.

Silence again. Probably a shrug, from his dad. Then:

_**"I'm only saying ... so long as he's biding his time, we could afford to do a little living, Lil."**_

They'd set up a play date the next weekend, with the Weasleys. Harry'd kept quiet, remembering what Neville had said, and Ron had called him weird. He did think the crawlspace was "wicked" so he couldn't have been that bad, but Harry didn't know. Ron hadn't come back. His sister, Ginny, had once or twice, and Harry liked her fine. She didn't mind that they weren't allowed to leave the Hollow-she said she was used to being told what not to do, though not as much to listening.

_**"How do you never sneaks out?"**_

She'd asked. At the time, he hadn't understood it himself, and hadn't answered but for a shrug.

Now ...

Harry looked right. A group of girls shrieking over a little palm-sized owl.

He looked left. Two five year old boys duelling with wands nicked from, no doubt, the parents running at them screaming.

Now, he thought he knew.

_I am very, very small._

It wasn't that he believed his parents when they said he was special-at least not special the way they said it, all sparkling watching eyes and knowing smiles. Different, yes. Strange, maybe, he feared. But whatever it was called, they'd treated him as such, and he only knew how to act as such. What was he supposed to say to these people? The most exciting thing he had to offer were the secrets of the Hollow, and none of them even knew where it was. He wasn't even allowed to name it.

He was just a small boy in a green cloak with a normal, common name.

If he were special, then he must be the least special special child in the world.

"Oh, there's Sirius," James said, and Harry straightened up.

"Where?!" he shouted, looking around, just as leather-coated arms swarmed around him.

"Right here!" Sirius' voice echoed through the platform, as he lifted Harry into the air. Laughter poured out of them both, as Sirius swung him around.

As long as he were small enough for this, he supposed he didn't mind.

"Thanks for coming," James whispered into Sirius' ear, as Lily ushered Harry on the train. It'd taken convincing, to pull Harry off his godfather, but the boy seemed as light and giddy as he had when he first got the letter. Even Lily's eyes had calmed to a grass green.

Sirius grinned. "Like I'd miss this for anything!" He clasped his best friend on the back. "Feels like ages since I've been here."

"Nah. Only a century, isn't it?" James said, avoiding the shove like the Seeker he used to be.

"You laugh, but I found a gray hair the other day. Nearly hexed it off."

"I weep for you, Padfoot."

Lily stepped back, sliding into James' side. His arm responded to the call instantly, snaking around her waist.

"He's on," she said.

James nodded, then kissed the top of her head. "He's on." He was watching from the train door, waving, owl cage still in hand with a delightful snowy he'd gotten for his birthday, but he was on.

James offered him a grin, and was happy to see it returned.

"Brew them up some trouble, Harry!" Sirius whooped beside him, and James' grin doubled. Lily stiffened in his grip though.

"You didn't give him the cloak, did you?"

"Me? Never," he said, though the whistle overpowered him as the train began to move.

_Sirius however ..._

_None of them know._

He watched them, watching the train. So peaceful, so happy, smiles on every face. Smoke streamed around the sides, bright sunlight gleamed against the red and black metal, they all cheered and cried and waved goodbye because _none of them know._

No one knew him; no one looked at him.

They wouldn't know where to look if they tried.

_None of them know._

Only he did.

At last.

He wrenched his eyes away, and walked through the barrier, into busy Muggle London again. He tapped at his wand, hidden in his pocket, and smiled as it warmed at his fingers.

A secret code went out around the Wizarding World, and none of them knew. Three little words, that even intercepted, would mean nothing to them, pathetic, dribbling over themselves in their mundane celebration of their mundane lives.

Three words.

"It has begun."

* * *

**DISCLAIMER: Harry Potter has never been, and shall never be, mine. Thanks, Rowling, but just taking it for a free spin.**


	2. Chapter 2

**chapter one.**

YEAR ONE

Harry didn't move from the train doorway until they turned the corner and his family finally disappeared from sight. He didn't know where to go. Neville was somewhere on this train. That was the obvious answer, if not the most enticing. If only Ginny had been in his year ...

He sighed, as Hedwig hooted in her cage. He'd gotten the name out of one of his school books, at his father's urging, though he was still more tempted to call her Owl than anything else, and it was that same lack of creativity that pushed him down the hall, looking through the windows to find Neville. He took comfort that he wasn't the only one. Though the older kids shifted into compartments with ease, most children his size were wandering too.

He kept his eyes forward, not sure what to say if any of them started talking to him.

It didn't help.

"Oh, your owl is absolutely beautiful!" attacked a bushy haired girl who seemed to apparate on the spot. Big brown eyes blinked expectantly at him, and he shifted Hedwig behind himself.

She didn't stop talking though.

"It's an unusual color, isn't it? I've seen a lot of people with tawnys and barn owls, but none like yours." She smiled at him. His hands clenched over Hedwig's cage, but once again, she didn't seem to be looking for a response."Are you looking for a compartment too? My name's Hermione Granger. What's yours?

That, at least, he could answer. "Harry Potter. I'm, er ... I have a friend on the train somewhere ..."

"What's his name? I can help you look. Hopefully there'll be space for two, I've been searching for a compartment for ages."

There was no shaking her off now. "Neville," he said, as they set off down the hall together. "He's got a toad."

"That should be easy enough then; he'd be the first I've seen today. Owls do seem to be the most popular animals, don't they? I suppose because they're useful. Muggles used to use pigeons the same way; I wonder if that's where the idea came from."

Harry lifted his head slightly. "You're a Muggleborn?"

Hermione nodded. "My parents were shocked when my letter came. They're both dentists, so I don't think it ever occurred to them, though, it does explain why my cavities always disappeared overnight."

Harry only nodded, though he relaxed his grip on the cage. If Hermione was a Muggleborn, she was just as lost as he was, if in a different way. She wasn't bad, either, he found as they moved through the train. As long as she was talking, he didn't have to, and he ended up more people than he could on his own. He couldn't keep track of half their names, but they smiled and nodded, and he got the feeling they preferred his quiet to Hermione's incessant polling about the Houses. It was as if she were determined to make up for lost time, trying to get every detail possible in order to make up her mind about which House was best. He was forced to point out the truth.

"You don't get to pick which House you get into."

"Oh, yes, I read about it _Hogwarts: A History_," she said, in a voice that suggested he knew what that was, "but the Hat's got all sorts of enchantments on it, and you get to talk with it, which has some weight."

"Really?" It'd been the first he'd heard about it, but Hermione had opened up another compartment and hadn't seemed to have heard.

"Hello! Sorry to bother you, we're looking for Neville Longbottom."

Harry poked his own head in, and his eyes widened. None of the boys were Neville. Two of them stood almost twice Neville's size lengthwise and more than three around. They flanked a blonde boy slightly smaller than Harry, whose lip curled in absolute disgust as he traced over Hermione's spur curls with cold gray eyes.

"Oh, are you?" he asked, drawling out the sounds.

"Hermione ..."

She didn't hear though. She seemed to have taken the question as a clue, and stepped closer. "Yes, he's got a toad, and he should be a first year. I'm Hermione Granger, by the way."

She held out a hand. No one took it.

The blonde stepped forward, and Sirius' stories of Veelas raced through Harry's head. His hair was the exact same shade, a pale white blonde that glowed as he came closer to the candle sconce. His skin was paler still. "Moonlight," Sirius had always called it. He knew the chances were low, but as the boy's eyes turned to steel darts and his lips curled further, into a sneer that skewed his teeth into fangs, it was hard not to remember Sirius's favourite tale.

"The Shredded Sailor Lost at Sea".

"I've never heard of any Grangers before," the boy said, back straight as if trying his best to pretend like he and Hermione weren't the same height, "and I know all the real Wizarding families." His voice pitched lower on the real, and Harry's eyes darkened.

_Well, you don't mine._

He pulled on Hermione's arm; this time she turned to him, her eyes open and confused. _Come on,_ he thought, _recognize an idiot when you see one._

Hermione only looked back though, smile apologetic and voice a little quieter, but still unwilling to back down. "Sorry, you wouldn't know my name. My family aren't wizards, they're dentists. I'm guessing you're a Pureblood then?"

He laughed; looked behind him, at the two gargoyles who Harryy guessed were supposed to be friends and not just henchmen. After a few seconds, they barked a quick laugh too. Like well-trained dogs.

"My name," the boy said, "is Draco Malfoy, and you better remember it next time, Muggleborn. Purebloods have to be treated better than you're treating me; it's one of the rules."

_... Is he serious?_

Hermione opened her mouth-

"Get off it."

She shut it, and looked back at him. Her eyes were wide.

A second later, Harry did the same thing. He hadn't meant to say it out loud. He thought the boy-Malfoy-hadn't noticed him before but now his whole face puckered, as if he'd bit into something sour.

"And who are you?" he asked. His eyes shot to Harry's untamed waves. "Or do all mutts travel in packs now?"

Harry's eyes burned, and he stepped forward. "Harry Potter," he said. "You recognize that name, do you?"

Draco did.

He felt his mouth snap shut before he could stop it, and he chanced a look at the girl again. Friends with Harry Potter? A name that drifted in and out of his house on a monthly basis, though he never knew why, only that it was important, _do it or die, Draco_ important?

The girl couldn't know what she had.

_Stop it. Think._ He focused on his father's favourite saying, written on his heart: Malfoy means bad faith, not bad mind. Harry Potter was in front of him. That was the important thing. He may not understand why his father cared, but his father did-had told him what his duty was.

He couldn't disappoint.

"I do," Draco said, softening his tone. "The Potters always do like their charity work, don't they?"

He smiled.

He meant it as a joke.

It took him a second to realize Potter wasn't laughing. He was pulling at Granger's arm again, glaring Draco's way. His eyes were Slytherin green. Luminous, almost-the anger radiated better than any hex could.

Why?

_What could she possible have that I don't?_  
"Come on, Hermione!" Potter hissed, and

Granger finally stepped back. They were leaving. They were actually leaving, without another word to him, just when he had apologized to his stupid Muggle-Draco stiffened, and yelled at them as they moved into the hall, "What's the matter, Potter? Can't take a bit of fun?"

Potter looked back, and Draco could feel those eyes burn holes into his memory. "All I see is a pointy-nosed bully," he said, "but let me know if any comes by."

He shut the compartment door behind him.

On Draco.

_How ... _

_How DARE he?!_

He was Draco Malfoy, sole heir to the Malfoy and Black fortune, and Potter had stomped over him like a slug; had looked at him like he was a Weasley. Draco Malfoy could stand many things: a firm wand across the backside; summer in Nimes; Christmases without Father; friends who never understood his jokes.

Being ignored-no, disregarded-was new.

He did not like it.

And he did not like how the emerald green of Potter's eyes hung across his vision even when the train came to a stop.

It wasn't until they'd gotten off the train and reached the boats that, Hermione had read, were enchanted to take them safely over the giant squid and to the castle proper, that she and Harry finally found Neville. Almost as soon as they'd left that nasty blonde and his friends, Harry had gotten hold of himself, and he'd brought her into the first compartment they could find, saying he didn't want a do-over. Not that she'd let him get away with ignoring it. She didn't think she'd ever seen anything so brave in her life, and she'd told him frankly.

He'd only blushed, but she was certain he'd been pleased the way he ought to.

Now, following him to the waving round-faced boy she assumed was Neville, she couldn't help but watch her new friend closely. He was so shy, just walking in a crowd. By the end of the train ride, she'd gotten a bit out of him-that his family lived in the West Country, that his mother was a Muggleborn too (no wonder he'd gotten so upset!) but it was clear he preferred to listen. When she'd started asking him question about the Wizarding World, though, his answers were quicker. Did he not like to talk about himself? _He certainly doesn't look at people,_ she thought.

Meanwhile, she took in everything. She couldn't seem to soak in enough: of the air that smelled different, purer, with the magic pulling out some of the pollution Muggle civilization pumped into it; the people, with their robes and funny names and funny little words, so many she almost felt she ought to start writing them down just to remember them all.

He hadn't left her yet though. Hadn't got sick of her talking, hadn't made fun of her reading, hadn't started picking at her hair.

That was more than she'd ever had before, and enough to keep her standing by him.

"About time, Harry!" Neville said cheerfully. Harry nodded.

"We got lost on the train."

Hermione stepped forward, and put out her hand. "I've heard a lot about you though. Hermione Granger." She looked down, at a little wooden box tied around his wrist. "Is that your toad?" she asked.

He nodded, and lifted up his arm to show her. It was a very ordinary little thing, much like the toads at the lake she and her parents used to go to for summer outings, but Neville beamed at it. "His name's Trevor," he said. "My mum bought me the box; he keeps hopping away when he's out of it ..."

Hermione frowned. "Couldn't you train him otherwise?"

"Harry tried once."

She looked at him, eyes slightly wide, and Harry shrugged. "It didn't work very well," he said with a sheepish grin. "Leapt right into my mother's pie. We couldn't find him for ages."

A booming voice cut her off before she could answer.

"Come on, yeh three! Yeh don't want ter miss the Sorting!"

Hermione jumped into the boat in front of them in an instant, almost crashing into a red-headed boy in the corner.

"Oy! Watch it!"

She smiled. "Sorry; didn't mean to. I'm Hermione Granger."

He scowled, though as Harry and Neville entered the boat, he nodded to them. "Hello."

"Hi, Ron," Neville said, though she didn't think he looked very happy about it. Harry nodded back.

_Oh well._

"Is Ron short for Ronald, or Ronan?" she asked. "With Wizarding names, I feel like I just can't tell anymore. Though, I suppose they all seem normal to you." He stared at her, and not for the first time today, she wondered if there was something on her face. She always had this problem in new schools, but it didn't stop her hoping.

"My name's Ron," he said again.

Neville frowned. "But it's short for Ronald, isn't it?"

Ron's ears went pink. "Of course it is!" he squeaked. "That doesn't mean you can call me that!"

_Boys._

The boat shook a little. For a second, she worried Ron had moved to stand, but as she looked down at the water, she could see little eddies start to form on the sides.

"Oh, we're moving!" she said. "I wonder if we'll get a look at the squid!"

Ron stared at her again. _Maybe I just won't look at him anymore,_ she decided. Instead, she turned her attention to the spot just beyond the trees where she knew she'd soon be able to see Hogwarts. That was what was important, where things were going to be different for her. The train might not have been as successful as she hoped, but she could feel the magic in the air here, the same magic that'd almost dripped from the letter she now had hanging in her bedroom wall at home.

She had Harry. If that wasn't proof enough, she didn't know what was.

Harry got through the first glimpse of the castle without problems. He'd seen it before. Only once, when he was nine, on one of the few outings his family had ever taken-and in summer, which made it look different than it did now, he thought. In summer it has been haunting, black stone absorbing the light and letting none out, halls empty and musty from disuse.

Now he thought it looked very, very large; as if he could get lost in a few steps inside it.

But even with that, he didn't panic yet. Not when he saw it, not when he entered, not when a harsh looking women with cat-eye classes walked around them and summed up the basic idea of the houses.

Only as the doors opened to the Great Hall of his dad's stories, with the changing sky and four tables of bigger, older students staring down at him, did his skin boil sweat.

"Hermione," he whispered behind him, "why is it again you think that the Hat would listen to you? If you, er, didn't want to be somewhere?"

"Well, think about it, Harry. If you really didn't want to be in a house, you couldn't possibly belong there."

His heart sank. So she didn't know; she was guessing. His eyes floated to where he knew the Gryffindor table sat, his dad having pointed it out on their visit: _**"Right there, Harry. That's where you'll get to sit one day."**_

He'd sounded so sure. What would he do if Harry didn't?

It wasn't something he talked about with his father often, but his and Sirius' joking about it last night had dredged up the old fear again. He knew the Hogwarts traits like they were his other names-the four C's as his mother called it: courage, cleverness, care, and cunning ("Oh, you mean cowardliness," his father always corrected, though it made his mum roll her eyes).

Harry didn't know what C would apply to him, but it wasn't any of those.

He tried to focus on the ghosts floating above his head, watching for the way they shimmered when passing over a candle, but it was hard to focus. Everyone down the line was whispering; Ron, a few students ahead of him, relayed horror stories from his brothers about some sort of painful test, while a few were still dazzled by the ceiling, currently a lovely clear night of stars.

No one mentioned the Houses proper. Maybe, at least, he could take comfort that they were all as worried as he was.

Up ahead, the Professor who'd led them in-McGonagall, he thought she'd said-had taken the Hat out at last. This, at least, wasn't at all like Harry had imagined. His dad had never spoken about the Hat in much detail, but given the power it had, he was expecting something more than a tattered old wizard's hat, with more patches than original fabric left and what appeared to be a mustard stain on the brim.

He also, as the brim opened up, was not expecting it to sing.

_"Another year, another crowd,_  
_Of students looking to be sat_  
_I see you looking for a sign_  
_Your fate's not with a hat."_

Harry looked around. That was true enough; he could see more than a few faces blanching.

_"But never fear, I've quite the mind,_  
_For knowing where you ought to be._  
_It's what I was designed for,_  
_By minds brighter than me._  
_I'll take a look inside your head,_  
_See all you have to offer_  
_And that is where your life will lead_  
_Until you hit the coffer._  
_Will Gryffindor guide your hand?_  
_Is your heart brave and true?_  
_Do you go where others dread,_  
_When it's the right thing to do?_  
_Or will you be in Hufflepuff,_  
_Find friends like you've never had?_  
_Those who work until the day is done,_  
_And smile and be glad?_  
_Ravenclaw might take you too,_  
_If your mind is like a book,_  
_Meant for learning, meant for words._  
_I'll know it in one look._  
_And last there's always Slytherin:_  
_But never would I say least,_  
_They'll fight and claw to do their best,_  
_Until their true power is released._  
_So split you all, I'll do again,_  
_Though in all, I'm only a Hat,_  
_I feel the darkness creeping in,_  
_But you don't care about that."_

Harry shot up straighter-as did most people in the room. Whispers crept through the tables of older students, enough that even the Hat was forced to stop, though It didn't let it last long. It coughed, once, until there was a thick, waiting silence, and then opened his mouth again.

_"See, you trust me to divide you,_  
_When you've begun to form,_  
_But if I talk on a different matter,_  
_You stare and say, "What for?!"_  
_But I'm not finished with my song,_  
_Though, don't worry, the end is near,_  
_If this is when I'll get to speak,_  
_Then heed me now; then fear._  
_I will do my duty;_  
_It's what I've got to do._  
_But I place on you a different task,_  
_For I know more than you._  
_Take care of one another,_  
_And do learn all you can,_  
_And though you'll soon be all split up,_  
_Remember you all are man."_

The last note rang out though the Hall for a long time. Harry supposed that normally, there might have been applause. A cheer, perhaps. Some sort of recognition for a song well sung.

There was only another cough, however, from the professors' table as Dumbledore stood, looking as regal as Harry remembered him. He had no reaction to the Hat's song; only half-smiled in his usual way.

"Thank you, again, for your service," he said. "Professor McGonagall?"

That was all it took. Professor McGonagall stepped forward, and unrolled a long scroll, as the older students broke into polite applause. But a nagging worry was clawing up Harry's back. Why would the Hat sing about all that stuff? What did it mean, by darkness, by "remember you all are man?" He'd have to Owl his parents.

"Abbott, Hannah!"

_If I survive._

He watched Hannah Abbot go up and become a Hufflepuff, trying to ignore how the chubby blushing girl was a mirror image of Sirius' loud and scathing impersonation of one. He didn't think he looked like that-and he definitely didn't think he was hard working ...

The line thinned, one by one. Hermione became a Gryffindor, and he returned her beaming grin as she ran to the table. Neville, surprisingly, also did-though, Neville didn't freeze up in front of others like he did. He might not like scurrying in walls and might be more interested in plants than Quidditch, but he had Harry beat there.

_But will Dad see it that way?_

As the names went on, he began to curse his name-though whether he wanted to be an Abbott or a Zabini, he wasn't sure. He was leaning more towards the latter when-

"Potter, Harry!"

And then his insides transfigured to lead.

He could hear the hall, waiting for him to go on and do it. He could see Professor McGonagall, staring down at him from her place next to the Hat. It was his turn. Go, he told himself.

But he didn't move.

Couldn't, as if his shoes had melted into the stone.

Professor McGonagall said again: "Potter, Harry."

He stayed standing.

Maybe he could just stay here forever. Or, what if he turned back around? _The train probably didn't leave yet, I still could-_

"What's wrong, Potter?" came a cold whisper up the line, from the Slytherin table. "Wet your only pair of pants?"

He didn't need to look around to know who it was. Malfoy. Was he just going to follow him around and torture him forever?

_Then don't give him something to hold over you!_

He marched up to the Hat, ignoring the giggles from the other tables, though once he sat down on the stool and could see them all watching him, knowing and amused, he was glad for the Hat falling over his eyes.

"See you finally worked up that courage of yours, boy."

In the private darkness of the hat, he blushed. It was only relative privacy though, as the hat chortled. "You have more than you realize. Quite a lot, actually. Just been misinformed what courage is, though you wouldn't be the first. Daring, too, yes. Not a bad mind, don't be so hard on yourself ... although, that drive, to be different than what you are now ... Yes, that's very interesting, very powerful."

_Drive? What was drive?_ No, wait, it couldn't be-

_Please not that_, he thought.

The hat paused. "Not what?"

_You know what,_ Harry thought, eyes narrowing in the dark.

"Careful with that anger. There's nothing wrong with Slytherin, you know-and everything wrong with that thinking. 'A history of dark wizards', 'nothing but evil' ... codswallop, I say. You'd do well there. I can see it here."

Harry swallowed. All this time, he'd been worried about Hufflepuff-he'd never considered Slytherin, not once. What would his father say to that? What would Sirius? His hands clenched and tears burned his eyes-

"Please don't," the Hat whined. "You'll get me wet and no one ever dries me. Just because you'd do well there doesn't mean it's where I'll put you."

Harry let out a breath.

"But try and remember this, when you're in ... GRYFFINDOR!"

Dimly, he heard a cheer go out from the Gryffindor table, but it only itched at the corners of his awareness.

Gryffindor.

He was in Gryffindor. His dad's house, Sirius', his mom. He had earned it after all.

Whatever part of him didn't deserve this, he'd deal with later. For now, a soft wind of joy carried him to the Gryffindor table, where Hermione and Neville waited for him.

Perhaps he could stay here after all.

"We have to take him out," Lily's voice echoed from Albus' fireplace later that night.

He'd returned to his office as soon as the children began to stand up from their tables, and with a few small enchantments, ensured no interruptions for the rest of the night. He'd heard the Hat's words as clearly as everyone else-and with more knowledge than any of them.

Yet they still mystified.

**_"So split you all, I'll do again,_**  
**_Though in all, I'm only a Hat,_**  
**_I feel the darkness creeping in,_**  
**_But you don't care about that."_**

_Why say that when I do?_ Albus thought to himself again, as James whispered into Lily's ear. He smiled at the sight. He expected no less from Lily. She'd taken all his warnings to heart all these years, mind spinning provision plans, escape plans, rescue plans. He'd talked with the Longbottoms first because he'd known it'd be easier than Lily Evans Potter, with the smell of danger itching at her nose hairs. Though she was, by nature, the pragmatic one of the pair, in this instance he was glad for James.

It was only a feeling. The Hat only ever had feelings, stirred up by its magical connection to the school. But he had not known a hat to better understand one's feelings since his mother's own self-warming knitted caps, and when it came to the school, it had no equal. Danger lurked outside Hogwarts' walls, strong enough to merit caution.

Or was it caution? Was that the answer? _**"But you don't care about that"; "you stare and say, 'What for?!'"**_ The hat hadn't cautioned.

It had reprimanded.

Had there been some warning Albus ignored, some small sign he should have been paying attention to?

Was he so old? _Too old?_

Lily sighed. "Sorry," she said. "I just don't understand. Hogwarts was always the next best place to the Hollow, with you there."

Albus' eyes twinkled. "He has not died yet, Lily."

Her eyes popped wide open. "I didn't mean-"

Albus smiled, and James took her hand. "We don't even know what this means yet. Couldn't it be a more general threat, Albus?"

"There is the possibility," he said, and they knew he meant otherwise, from the heaviness in his voice. "For now, I'm afraid we can only wait, and see what shadows the light will reveal."

He'd waited this long.

He could wait a little more.


End file.
